


Some unrighteous intention

by A_reluctant_dreamer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Tony owns Avengers Entertainment, War Machine is a progmetal band, confident!Peter Parker, jazz musician!Peter Parker, music producer!Tony Stark, oblivious!Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_reluctant_dreamer/pseuds/A_reluctant_dreamer
Summary: Thanks for reading! Comments are most welcome :)There's three chapters written for this story, but I have two bonus chapters planned that I'd love to find the time to complete. Anyway, the next two chapters will be up in the next few days.Check out the moodboards that go with this story on tumblr:https://areluctantsblog.tumblr.com/post/181935832414/music-au-part-1-au-where-tony-stark-is-a-musicThe title comes from the lyrics of Nature Boy by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.





	1. Morning

Waking up feeling drained and with a mild headache, Tony Stark half regrets having fallen asleep at all. He prefers an all-nighter to jet-lag anytime, even if he has an important business meeting in the afternoon.

Deciding that more sleep would only make him feel worse, Tony gets up. When, even through the haze of exhaustion, his mind manages to conjure up the image of the coffee shop he saw across the street last night, his worries that jet-lag seriously damaged his cognitive functions ebb away. The promise of almost-immediate caffeine intake and the possibility of avoiding the hotel restaurant – which Tony does most of the times – make it almost easy to drag himself through his morning routine.

As he walks toward the café half an hour later, Tony passes a music shop and sees a handsome young man enter. The sight almost wakes him up properly – something that a cold shower and the crispy winter air couldn’t achieve – but Tony shakes his head and goes for his coffee first. On his way back, however, he can’t resist entering the music shop. The young man’s still there, conversing with the shopkeeper. A regular, it would seem. He wears a suspiciously bespoke-looking deep navy-blue coat. Tony is more intrigued by the minute.

The shopkeeper turns towards him, but Tony waves a hand to signal that he’s good. The conversation picks up and Tony pays careful attention to every word, he can hear. Meanwhile he registers the truly remarkable variety of vinyl, music sheets, instruments and accessories the shop offers. When Tony feels sure he’s heard enough to join the conversation, he picks up a random vinyl from the display table and walks over to the counter.

Both men look at him. Tony puts the vinyl down.

“I’ll take this, please.” Then he turns towards Peter. “And, excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing…” Tony thinks he captures the exacts moment when his perfect charming smile starts working on Peter. It’s subtle, surprise flashing across his face and an almost imperceptible squint of his eyes, but Tony’s been around for a long time and had both reason and opportunity to learn to read people. “Do you propose, did I get it right? to put hammers? in a piano? It sounds remarkable, would you mind elaborating?”

Tony noticed him glance at the shopkeeper when he praised him, and for a second, they both looked amused, but Peter’s answering smile can’t be described anything but carefully polite. 

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind, Mr Stark,” he says eventually, inclining his head slightly.

Tony’s surprise at being recognised by the young man must show on his face, because the shopkeeper chuckles.

“We know our music around here, Mr Stark, especially Peter. It’s an honour to have you here” he extends his hand and Tony shakes it. The man’s name is Yinsen, which Tony finds vaguely familiar but cannot place at the moment. He’s too excited to find out who the intriguing young man – _Peter_ – is.

Tony remotely notices how good it feels to touch him while they shake hand, but he’s mainly struggling to get back on top the situation, because Peter _Parker_ is definitely smirking now and Tony for the love of God can’t figure why. He comes to his senses when he hears Mr Yinsen speak.

“Will you be needing my assistance with anything else, Mr Stark?”

“No, let me just… how much?”

He pays for the vinyl – it’s one of his own productions, he notices, annoyed – and thanks the man. He’s not confident that his charm has worked exactly the way he intended, so instead of just walking away and expecting Peter to follow him, he actually looks at the man with an enquiring expression.

“After you, Mr Stark,” the young man replies and damn if his voice isn’t honey. “Goodbye, Mr Yinsen. Oh, and I’ll fetch those strings at around 6, if it suits you.”

They exit the shop and Tony inhales deeply. The woody scent of the shop still lingers and as it mixes with the chilly air, Tony gives himself over to the sensation. Then the moment passes, and he realises, they haven’t moved. Peter’s looking at him politely, but his gaze is otherwise unreadable.

“I avoid hotel cafés and restaurants if I can, so I’m open to suggestions,” Tony says.

Peter nods. “I think I know just the place. How do you feel about books, Mr Stark?”

“I’m sensing some serious European vibe,” Tony quips. “Show the way.”

Peter smiles and stars walking.

“So, what _is_ it that you do?” Tony asks as they turn the corner. He can’t help himself, the boy’s idea is the most interesting he’s heard lately, and he needs to find out more about him. About it. Well, really, both if he wants him. To sign a contract, that is.

“I play music,” the young man offers. “I have a band for live gigs, but I mostly write my own music. I also collaborate with other artist.”

“What kind of music?” Tony asks. The boy’s appearance has classical written all over it, but his attitude suggests something unrulier. Something that would explain the cheeky confidence he emanates despite his ivory skinned, wide-eyed British exquisiteness.

“Mainly jazz, but I like experimenting with other things too.”

Jazz. Of course. Tony notices the young man looking at him, waiting for his reaction. So, Peter not only knows his name, but also is familiar with what he does. Sure, jazz isn’t metal, but honestly how could he not be interested?

“Just my luck. I’ll try to keep up though…” Tony smiles. Peter smirks, but doesn’t reply.

After a few steps – his lithe movement really _is_ something to behold – Peter stops and enters a classy looking place. Tony walks in after him and immediately likes the dark panelled room, the deep cherry and blue wallpaper and the stuffed bookshelves. Even though it would never be his first choice, he understands at once why Peter likes it. Tony pushes back the frightening realisation that somehow in barely half an hour, things and places started to _feel_ like this stranger.

The barman greets Peter politely and they take a seat next to the French windows. It feels oddly intimate, not exposed at all, yet Tony still chooses to sit with his back to the street. When their waiter arrives with two menus, Peter turns to him immediately.

“Thank you, would you mind just putting them down, please?”

Tony is speechless. He was mentally preparing to be handed something and wishing with all his might that he could resist flinching and then this, this complete stranger goes out of his way to save him from it. When the waiter walks away, Tony says quietly:

“Thank you.” The ‘How did you know?’ goes unsaid, but Peter seems to read it from his gaze.

“I noticed that Mr Yinsen didn’t hand you the change and since he knows everyone worth knowing better than anyone I know… well I took a guess.”

Tony feels a bit shaken, but Peter’s smile that is gentle for the first time reassures him.

“You guessed right,” he says finally. Then to steer the exchange towards safer grounds he adds “we’ll see how quick our waiter friend is on the uptake.”

Peter hums. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that here.”

Even though the twinkle of Peter’s eyes is far too knowing, Tony lets out a relaxed laugh. They choose their drinks in silence and it gives enough time for Tony to go back from anxious to intrigued. Once they’ve placed their orders, he leans closer to Peter and says:

“Now, Mr Parker, tell me for real this time who you are and what you do.”

Peter chuckles. “While I’m flattered, Mr Stark, I really don’t know what else to say.”

It’s infuriating how he appears to be completely honest. It’s reflects the perfect mixture of modesty and confidence that Tony recognises from true and rare professionals. Tony lets out a frustrated groan but before he can say anything rash, their drinks arrive. Tony is grateful for the interruption, for it gives him a few moments to think. Strategy, he needs strategy. He might as well have stumbled upon some young prodigy, the next genius of jazz and if so, he simply can’t let him slip through his fingers.

“I’ll take it that you are a pianist?” Tony prompts.

“Well, I play the piano, the double-bass, the saxophone, the guitar, some percussion, but I prefer to edit my rhythms and noises on a computer.” He says it all so nonchalantly, that Tony needs to make an effort not to gape at him. Still, he’s a moment too late in responding and something both amused, and apologetic appears in Peter’s expression.

“So, when you said earlier that you write your own music, you also meant that you record it all by yourself as well, didn’t you?”

"Most of the time, yes, but sometimes my band helps."

“Do you have a name?” Tony asks unthinkingly and he realises his blunder as soon as he sees irritation flash through Peter’s face.

“Sorry if it’s not showbiz enough, but you already know it, Mr Stark.” He’s tone is mocking, but Tony feels there is an edge to it.

“It’s not a bad name. How come I haven’t heard it before? Young prodigy and all that.”

“Come now, Mr Stark, do you put such great trust in every no name stranger you meet?" The young man seems amused and there is also something very much like satisfaction in the hint of a smirk he wears. Despite his light tone, however, Tony still feels embarrassed. He almost started explaining himself. Almost… 

“Only those whom I catch talking about hacking an instrument,” Tony winks at Peter but then turns more serious. “So what’s your story? Someone must have realised your talent early on.”

“Maybe they have, I don't know. In my family, it’s quite usual for children to learn to play an instrument. At first, I had music teachers, but then I've taught myself. Actually, I tried to avoid being _discovered_. I've spent my whole life surrounded by music and I've learnt early on to tell if someone still enjoys playing or have burnt out on their way to fame. I didn't want to burn out. Still don't."

Tony huffs, shaking his head in both disbelief and fascination. The boy is becoming more of an enigma by the minute. Rarely has Tony encountered such disinterested honesty and he hasn’t even realised that he missed it.

Peter just smiles at him and sips his tea. All of a sudden, Tony finds himself devoid of all disguises. His skin is tingling with some new and rousing sensation. For a few minutes he feels, rather than sees the young man before him and he’s still busy trying to unravel the effect Peter has on him when the young man speaks again.

"So,” Peter begins tentatively. “Would you like to talk some more about my plans for the grand piano?"

Tony nods eagerly. "Yes, please."

Their conversation lasts for over an hour. They discuss Peter's idea and Tony may not have been so excited since War Machine' s debut album. He can't refrain from making suggestions even though they don't work together. He hopes it’s only a matter a time before they do. Tony's engrossed and he's dying to hear Peter play and to see his ideas come to life.

He might even have forgotten his meeting, the one that was actually scheduled for him there, in London, if it wasn’t for Peter suddenly announcing he has to leave. He stands up swiftly and before Tony can figure out a way to ask him to meet again, he’s already taken his coat. Before leaving though, Peter steps back to their table, places a note under his saucer then stops in front of Tony with hand outstretched.

Tony is breathless as he stands up – they are so close now – and accepts the handshake. They stand like this for a moment longer, eyes locked, excitement, curiosity and something more, something perplexing flicker between them. From a distant corner of his mind Tony hears the faint voice of his rationality tell him to ask Peter when they can meet again, but he seems to have become temporarily speechless. Peter lets go of his hand and walks to the door. Before stepping out, however, he looks back.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” the feigned innocence of his voice is betrayed by his smirk. “I play tonight at 8 on the Steamer. I wouldn’t mind if you came.”

He leaves and doesn’t look back to see the grin that spreads on Tony’s face despite the twirling mess of panic, relief, anticipation, confusion, desire, impatience and self-consciousness inside him.


	2. Afternoon

Tony walks back to the hotel still slightly dazed, manages to find his room and hurries to get ready for his meeting. He’s relieved to find all he needs to know in a folder that he doesn’t remember packing. Pepper knows him too well.

She also knows better than to let Tony deal with the important company stuff alone. Except if it is about music, of course. And that’s what Tony is planning to do: make a historic deal by signing Peter Parker to the Avengers. But first, this meeting, with Mr… Whatshisname from Britain’s biggest independent label. Well, the deal must be as good as sealed if Tony’s here alone, especially in his current state of mind.

Fifteen minutes in, Tony is certain he has sat at more boring meetings back in the day when he was pretending to be a CEO but simply cannot recall one at the moment. Or is it boring? He is not even sure. All he knows is that his brain keeps conjuring up questions, ideas and – those are the worst – images at an astonishingly high frequency, all about Peter Parker. He manages to focus on the presentation he’s supposed to follow and grasps enough to realise that the other man is in fact rather good at his job. So, the Avengers is probably making a good deal. He strains to listen…

But then there are Peter’s eyes again and then other things, those that Tony is yet to see, like what Peter is going to wear that night. At least that’s a professional question, Tony tells himself. Show outfits are important, after all… He forces his attention outwards again. The end of the discussion approaching, he decides to at least be very polite and friendly with his future colleagues. It’s not their fault after all that he’s a mess and maybe, just maybe if he plays it real nice, the news of this won’t get back to Pepper.

A quarter of an hour later Tony’s walking out of the company’s building. He deems his performance successful enough to maybe win him a day before Pepper calls shouting. He decides to walk back to the hotel by the Thames, needing some of the chilly breeze to help him relax. He stops to watch the backwash left by a cruiser and it reminds of the venue Peter mentioned. The Steamer. He googles it and finds out that it is a decommissioned ship that’s been transformed into a concert venue. Tony’s not surprised by this either. Peter seems to choose places that suit him. Tony hopes that the young man’s decision later that night will suit them both.

Once back in his room, Tony pours himself a drink and considers himself in the mirror. He brought a good suit for the meeting, yet is it enough? He wants to look irresistible. In a professional sense. He frowns at his reflection, empties his glass and starts to undress. He’s still got time to decide.

His phone buzzes a few minutes later. It’s a reminder for his flight back. Yeah, that is not happening, at least not tonight. He’ll get back tomorrow and no harm… Tony groans. The next day is the date of War Machine’s 20th anniversary show. It takes place in Madison Square Garden and it is sold out, so twenty thousand people will be attending. Well, they are not interested in him, but he _did_ promise to Rhodey... Shit. Shit. Shit.

He calls Rhodey.

“Hey, how’d it go?” his friend asks right away.

“It was all right. Boring, but you know…”

“You have no idea what you talked about,” Rhodey lets out an exasperated laugh. “Guess I’ll be a good friend and won’t tell Pepper about it before you get your ass back here.”

“Yes, about that –” Tony begins, but Rhodey cuts in.

“Don’t tell me you’ve missed your plane.”

“– I’m staying another night,” he finishes, speaking over his friend.

“What?! You’re joking, right?” there’s a minute’s pause while he waits in silence for Tony to speak. Then he continues, annoyed yet confident. “You’re boarding like right now, aren’t you?”

“No, sorry, no. Something has come up,” Tony manages to say eventually.

“Why am I so sure,” his best friend begins in his ‘I know you too well and I hate it’ tone, “that that _something_ will mysteriously turn into a _someone_ in your next sentence?”

“He’s a genius, Rhodey,” Tony insists.

“Yeah?” he sounds doubtful. “Pray tell.”

“He plays jazz, and he has this amazing idea–”

“And he’s twenty and looks like an angel,” Rhodey cuts in. “Let me rephrase, then. Can’t you fuck him real quick like and still catch that plane?”

“You wound me, my friend. I have long left my infamous past behind me. My interest is purely professional.”

“I could literally see your face twitch. You know, the way it does when you catch yourself lying?”

“He may look, ahem,” Tony’s searching for a safe enough word, then decides it’s better not to trust himself with finding one. So, what he settles on is “…good.” 

He hears Rhodey heave an enormous sigh. “Ok. So, tell me what’s so special about him.”

And Tony tells him. All about their chance meeting in a high-end music shop, Peter’s bespoke outfit, their conversation, the undecipherable way Peter kept looking at him, his idea for the piano and all the instruments he plays, how perfect his hands are for playing, the good feeling he has about working together, the way Peter noticed he doesn’t like being handed things, his humility _and_ his sass. Then he mentions the invite and hopes that he managed to convince his friend – who remains silent. For a beat. Followed by another one. Longer, this time. Tony’s about to ask him what he thinks when he hears Rhodey clear his throat.

“Wow. You really are serious.”

“Of course, I am, told you I’m staying. Can’t you see why? I know jazz isn’t the usual profile for the Avengers, but it’s my call and I say we need him. He’ll be great, maybe not commercially but artistically and that would just be so him. The living legend who can still walk down the street…”

“So, let’s see if I get this straight. You say that you’re staying _solely_ for the good of the company. To make a contract with a young prodigy who makes completely different music than your other productions and who won’t even be a commercial hit. And it has _nothing_ to do with him being twenty and looking like an angel.”

“Twenty-five and no, you didn’t get it right” Tony huffs, irritated. Why can’t Rhodey just see the point?

“If you say so. Go on then. Stay. _We_ are all grownups in War Machine and can manage to stay out of trouble without a babysitter.”

“I don’t need a babysitter. Trust me on this, Rhodey, I know what I’m doing.”

“If only I could believe you. But I guess you’ll let me know eventually whether you’ve figured it out or not. Have a nice evening, Tones.”

“You are the best.”

“I know. Now go and suit up.”

Tony hangs up smiling, but it fades quickly when he realises that he’s back to the original dilemma of whether his suit will do or not. In Tony’s experience, in cases such as these, it’s best to seek out the best. Even though he has a nagging feeling, that – say if held at gunpoint – he couldn’t exactly define what cases such as these imply exactly, he’s already pulled up his maps app and searched for Savile Row.


	3. Evening

Two hours and two thousand pounds later Tony is back in front of the mirror in his room and is finally satisfied. Well, the suit is not bespoke, that would have been impossible in such a limited amount of time. But it feels the best he owns, a sensation which may have more to do with _why_ he bought it rather than _where_. He finishes his second drink, smooths down the front of his jacket and revels in the soft touch of the fabric. Unbidden, his mind conjures up the image of Peter’s long fingers and the way his pale skin would look against the dark charcoal of the suit. 

Snapping out of his reveries, Tony feels the need of grounding himself and decides to have dinner before the concert. His desire of getting around the exhausting search for a suitable place wins out over his habit of avoiding hotel restaurants and he calls room service. The food arrives soon, and he decides to eat on the balcony despite the chilly breeze. The lights of the city are beckoning him, and the noises melt together in an excited buzzing. Tony feels anticipation course through him, the prickling of adrenaline in his veins pushing him forward despite the anxiety coiling at the pit of his stomach. 

Tony watches the taxi drive away before turning around and taking the ship in. It looks just as cool as on the website and he’s not surprised to see a small queue at the entrance. He walks down the steep dock and joins the line. He wishes away the uneasy feeling settling in his chest, but his efforts are in vain. He has nothing to occupy his mind as he waits, and he starts wondering when the last time was that he had gone to a concert not for business. Then Tony reminds himself that this _is_ business. But he can’t deny that this is something else, too and it makes him nervous.

He barely notices when he’s up. He gets his ticket, enters and puts his coat in the cloak-room without paying any attention. The exposed, naked feeling he got from Peter’s gaze that morning is back. Entering the concert hall, Tony walks straight to the bar. The velvety taste of his Islay whiskey brings him back to the present for a minute, but the smoky aroma reminds him of the chilly morning air and Peter. Shaking his head, Tony takes another sip, leans against the bar and takes in the venue.

The windows of what seems to have been originally the dining room are closed off. Tony suspects that it’s been done to achieve better acoustics. The walls, along with the old panelled ceiling are painted matte black. The copper wall lamps appear to be genuine and they create a steampunk vibe without trying too hard. Tony makes a mental note to consider this venue for Avengers’ gigs in the future. He can just imagine young Londoners going crazy for Loki’s dark post metal here. Although steampunk doesn’t really suit heavy metal, the lightning visuals of the God of Thunder would go excellently with the Steamer’s all-black interior.

His musings are interrupted when he catches Peter’s name in the conversation of a small group at the bar. A youth with their back to Tony says how much they wait to see what Peter comes up with next. Tony can’t suppress a grin, but the excitement in his chest soon turns into something more unpleasant. There may be a hundred people there already, mostly Peter’s age. Tony wonders how many of them are his friends and acquaintances. He’s surprised to recognise the emotion clawing into him as jealousy.

Not wanting to dwell on this, he finishes his drink in one swallow and starts towards the stage. Being so close to the excited crowd forming the first few lines doesn’t help changing his earlier train of thought, so Tony turns his attention to the instruments that have already been brought out to the stage. The grand piano occupies almost half of the place. The drums are set up in the back and to the right there is a beautiful reddish double bass and a stool for the player. At the centre of the stage Tony sees an alto and a soprano saxophone. He can’t help but feel a little awe-struck again, when he remembers that Peter can play all these instruments. Tony wants to see it all, but he suspects that Peter will only play one tonight. Before he can decide if he’d preferred the sight of Peter hugging the double-bass to that of his delicious fingers flying over the keys of the piano, the lights are dimmed.

Tony hasn’t noticed so many people arrive, but the cheering that erupts suggests a nice crowd. He doesn’t join in, not so much out of professionalism, but because the realisation that any second now he’s going to see Peter again hits him hard. Before he can even wonder how to prepare himself, however, Peter walks out on stage and Tony’s breath hitches. Impossibly, he looks more beautiful than Tony remembered, his expression determined, dark eyes glowing in the blue light. He wears a long white shirt reaching almost to the knees. The way it envelops his slim figure sends a shiver down Tony’s spine – a sensation that has nothing to do with professional appreciation of Peter’s sense of style.

When Peter picks up the saxophone, Tony feels something hot coil in the pit of his stomach. He tries to focus on how Peter’s holding the instrument, if it is the proper way, but when he starts to play, the last of Tony’s pretences are swept away. His usual cool and collected professionalism stands no chance in Peter’s presence. He’s immediately transported by the vibrant tune.

It feels like spring and sunlight, like being caught up in the turmoil of a busy town square, surrounded by colours, sounds, touches that fit together seamlessly, all part of one pulsating flow of life. Then the saxophone opens new paths and Tony finds himself removed from the centre of things, relaxed, breathing in the dust and the lazy afternoon sunshine as he wanders down empty streets. The sea is glistening like a myriad of diamonds at the end of the road, and Tony kneels in the sand, letting the foamy waves wash over him, cooling him, bringing him back.

Opening his eyes is like waking from a deep slumber. He has no idea how much time has passed, whether the cheering and clapping indicates the end of the first song or the whole concert. When Peter speaks, greeting the audience, Tony’s relieved to find out that it’s only the beginning. Before he signals the band to start playing again, Peter’s eyes find Tony and for the briefest moment they lock gazes. For a second the rest of the crowd disappears, and they are alone, just the two of them in their connection. Tony’s never been affected like this before.

He barely has time to recover before the first notes of the second song begin, and he’s drawn back into that dreamlike state. His eyes fall shut and after god knows how long, Tony Stark begins to dance. His whole body is attuned to the music. Every note resonates in his chest and each note flies around him, teasing him, making the soft swinging movement feel irresistible. Tony revels in the new sensations awoken by Peter.

Where he usually feels cool and empty, gentle flames now sparkle into life, warming him, dancing in his chest like fairy lights. He feels young, careless in a way he’s never been, chasing his lover around white walls in a vivid green garden, the sunlight playing tricks on his eyes, until he finally reaches him. They kiss and Tony feels tears well up in his chest, but he laughs, because it’s the most delicious thing he ever felt, almost unreal, magical. 

Each song takes him to a new place. The colours, perfumes and sensations evoked by the tunes seem familiar, yet dazzlingly new, as if coming from a long-forgotten part of his soul that Peter's music somehow manages to reach. It's like breathing freely again. 

By the end of the concert, Tony feels both exhausted and energised. He can't wait to find Peter. As his brain starts to function normally again, he comes up with one argument after the other to convince Peter to sign with the Avengers. He can't let him go. Peter is incredible, his compositions, his playing, his presence, all of it. All of him. Tony needs him. As the crowd slowly starts dispersing, he walks back to the bar. It doesn't take long for Peter to join him. Tony hears the congratulations he gets as he walks across the dance floor. He doesn’t turn around, but he lifts his glass in celebration as Peter slides on a stool next to him.

When he turns to face the young man, Tony aims for an appreciative expression, but he can feel that he misses by a mile. Peter’s face is flushed, his forehead covered in shining drops of sweat and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. The sight sends a wave of arousal through Tony’s body and he knows that it shows. He wets his lips and clears his throat, but it takes a second try to actually get any words out.

“You are amazing,” Tony says, wishing he wouldn’t sound so much like he was in a post-orgasmic bliss.

The playful twinkle in Peter’s eyes suggests that he knows full well what is going on inside him. He holds Tony’s gaze for a long moment before he thanks him with a genuine smile. Then, he takes a sip of his club soda. When a drop starts running down the side of the glass, he flicks out his tongue and licks it off. Tony can’t look away and Peter’s smirk tells him that the young man knows it. Tony gulps.

“Peter,” Tony begins trying to keep the raspy edge of arousal out of his voice, “I need you to understand..." Peter frowns at that and lifts his gaze, so Tony's looking him straight in the eyes when he speaks his next words. "You've made me feel things I've never felt before. Fuck, I know I sound cheap, but you see, I'm quite old for new emotions," he adds jokingly, but at the same time it hits him how painfully true it is.

"My point is that you–, your music," he corrects himself, "is incredible and the way you own the stage…” Shit. He can't make it about how sexy Peter is. He is, god yes, he is, otherwise Tony wouldn't be getting hard from those dark, attentive eyes boring into his, but Peter is not the type to be flattered into a deal. And yet... “You are perfect,” Tony finishes after a moment’s pause, getting his voice back under control. Try as he might, he couldn't sum it up any better.

Peter tilts his head slightly, bright eyes searching Tony’s face and a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Tony wants so much to lean in and kiss him, it hurts. But he can't. For one thing, it would be utterly unprofessional and for another, Peter surely wouldn't want _him_. It really shouldn't hurt as much as it does. And Tony certainly shouldn't dwell on it for such a long time.

“So,” Tony starts, the exact moment he sees Peter move. His heartbeat quickens with excitement, but by the time he blinks, Peter is completely still again, looking at him expectantly. Tony’s chest tightens. He’s never been so nervous about business. He swallows hard and continues. “What would you say about a deal with the Avengers?”

The change in Peter’s expression tells Tony instantly that he said something wrong.

“What?” he asks, confused. “Surely, my offer can’t be wholly unexpected…”

Shit. He hasn’t made it better.

“Well, Mr. Stark, I can assure you that your offer took me _entirely_ by surprise.”

Peter’s mocking him, but why? What has Tony done to offend him?

“Peter?” When he hears how weak his voice sounds, Tony clears his throat. “Mr. Parker, I’m sorry if my offer doesn’t seem appealing to you. If you would let me explain, I’m sure we can agree on more satisfying terms.”

A hollow laugh is all the answer Tony gets before Peter excuses himself in a colourless tone and walks away. Tony is dumbstruck. He can’t fathom what went wrong. One minute, Peter’s gaze was open and interested, the next he looked hurt and he shut Tony out so fast, he had no chance of figuring out his mistake. Tony stares down at his hands. He has no idea what to do. If he gave up, it would be the right time to leave. But has he given up? 

At least the ‘no’ in answer to that question comes without hesitation. No, he still wants Peter.

Tony stays like this for a long time, his mind foggy, his whole body numb. He tries to think but can’t come up with anything helpful. Then it hits him. He hears his own words again, as if he spoke them out loud. He wants _Peter_. He wants Peter, period. Tony feels his face flush in embarrassment, but he can’t fight off the grin spreading on his face, either. Shit. How could he have denied it even for a minute? How could he have said ‘Yes, he’s beautiful, but– ‘? How could he have convinced himself that it was all professional?

Well, Tony know why he felt he needed to convince himself. He would have never believed that Peter can be interested in him. His reputation is one thing, his age is quite another. He was horrified to be seen as a creepy old man thirsting over young people, abusing his power to get them and using them to make him feel young again. No, Tony’s not like that. He doesn’t need young lovers to make him forget, because he simply doesn’t mind his age.

And, apparently, Peter doesn’t mind it either. Tony tries hard to come up with an alternative explanation, but there’s no other way to see this. He recalls his own words, how he as good as confessed all his admiration and desire to Peter. And he welcomed it. The memory of his smiles makes Tony’s heart clench. It’s obvious now, what he did to offend Peter. Foolish as he is, Tony Stark practically turned down Peter Parker. He told him he was perfect and that he made him feel in a way he never had before – then went on and offered him a fucking contract. How utterly humiliating that must have felt, especially if Peter expected something else…

Tony buries his face in his hands. He must make things right.

He can’t.

Can he?

Tony has no idea, but if there’s ever a time to take a risk, then it’s now. He stands and starts walking purposefully towards the VIP entrance.

“Did you name-drop yourself to get in here?” Peter asks, half exasperated, half teasing, when he notices Tony.

“No,” he replies, taking a seat next to Peter, turning towards the young man, abashed. “I actually name-dropped you.”

Peter bows is head in mock surprise, but he seems to relent. Relieved and embarrassed at the same time Tony laughs, and his heart starts beating faster when he hears Peter chuckle too.

“So, you’re still interested, even though you can’t own my music?”

“Peter,” Tony begins for the second time that night. He pauses searching desperately for the right words to deliver his feelings. “In the last two hours you took me through space and time and showed me some magical places. And yes, it would be a dream to work with you, because you are ridiculously talented and you create true art. But when you stopped playing, I opened my eyes and I realised that it wasn't the music. It was you. It was you that I…” he pauses. He needs to get it right, to prove himself, to make up for his blindness and stupidity. “It was you that got me spellbound and I would very much wish to be with you.”

“Well then,” Peter smiles, eyes bright, voice like honey, “when is your flight back, Tony Stark?”

Tony frowns. Is that what this is going to be? A quickie before his flight? He wasn’t prepared for this answer, but what can he expect after making such a fool of himself? He swallows past the lump in his throat and answers. “Tomorrow, I guess.”

“No,” Peter corrects, shaking his head, his eyes sparkling with some new emotion. He slides off his stool and steps closer. “I meant your flight back here.”

Tony’s chest suddenly feels too tight. He laughs in relief and beams at Peter as the young man leans in to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are most welcome :) 
> 
> There's three chapters written for this story, but I have two bonus chapters planned that I'd love to find the time to complete. Anyway, the next two chapters will be up in the next few days. 
> 
> Check out the moodboards that go with this story on tumblr: https://areluctantsblog.tumblr.com/post/181935832414/music-au-part-1-au-where-tony-stark-is-a-music
> 
> The title comes from the lyrics of Nature Boy by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.


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